by Judith Yates
She opened her eyes and looked at Paul. The sight of him reassured her instantly. “Yes, I think so. Are you?”
He appeared relieved, but sounded out of breath. “I’m okay. Not so sure about your car, though. I think we’ve hit a ditch.”
They both got out to investigate. It was snowing very hard, making it difficult to see. Yet it was clear that the car had spun off the road and landed in a shallow gully, where it was very stuck. Amy gasped and Paul swore.
“Thank goodness I have the car phone. We can call for help,” she told him. “Do you have any idea where we are, though?” Without any houses or buildings around, she felt as if they were in the middle of nowhere.
Paul turned, squinting through the falling wet flakes as he took stock of the surroundings. “Looks like we’re in the middle of McArthur’s Orchards. See—apples trees on both sides of the road.”
Amy just shook her head. She couldn’t see past her own nose.
Back in the car, they started calling for assistance. Henry’s garage was so busy they said it would be at least three hours before anyone could get out to them—if the roads were even passable by then. The auto club never answered the phone; neither did Dirk Campbell. They even came up empty-handed at the inn. Bernadette wanted to call the state police.
Telling Bernadette to wait until he called back, Paul turned to Amy. “Look, my house is only about three quarters of a mile from here. We could hike it. Otherwise we might be sitting here all night freezing. Who knows when and if the police will get to us.”
Amy stared out into the cold dark, more anxious than frightened. The prospect of trudging through this blizzard for almost a mile was daunting. The thought of waiting in this car for help that might never come was plain scary. “You sure you can find the way?”
“It’s not far from the orchard’s main entrance, which is well marked. Do you keep a flashlight in the car?”
A good sturdy flashlight and extra batteries were stowed in the trunk, along with blankets and other emergency items. After bundling up as much as possible, they covered their heads and shoulders with the blankets and struck out on foot. Paul kept up a good pace. Still, whenever Amy straggled behind, he’d stop and wait for her.
She thanked the stars she had worn her boots tonight, although her toes soon tingled from the cold. As they shuffled through the deepening snow, fighting the wind, Paul patiently urged her on. With the wet snow blowing into her eyes and pelting her face, Amy felt like a frozen, exhausted icicle.
“We’re almost there, honey,” Paul cried, putting his arm through hers. “There’s the McArthur sign.”
Thank God, she thought, feeling as if they’d walked ten miles instead of less than one.
Paul gently tugged her along until they reached his curving driveway. “I knew you could do it,” he said, giving her a hardy hug. “Just a few more yards.”
She was so relieved she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Instead she squeezed Paul’s arm tight as they climbed up the hilly driveway. For a reluctant Santa Claus, he was handling this disaster with admirable restraint. He wouldn’t be in this fix right now if it hadn’t been for her.
“I’m so sorry for dragging you into this, Paul,” she said, breathing hard. “You don’t deserve this.”
“I insisted you come with me. Even made you wear the elf suit. Then I drove your car into a ditch, causing who knows how much damage. And you’re sorry?”
Amy still felt remorseful. “I wasn’t one-hundred percent honest when I asked you to be Safety Santa. You weren’t the absolute last resort. If all else failed, Bridget was going to try Dirk.”
Paul stopped to look down at her. The blanket had slipped from his shoulders when he’d hugged her. His Santa cap, hair, eyebrows and lashes glistened under a coat of snow. “You mean I should have held out? Campbell could have been the fool hiking through this storm instead of me?” He shook his head. “Where’s the justice?”
Then he smiled and nudged her onward.
When they got to the house, Paul dug into his deep red pockets for the keys. “Snead’s not barking. Dirk must have taken him back to his house while I was away.”
Amy didn’t know Paul owned a dog. Actually, she knew little about the day-to-day matters in his life. He was still a mystery to her, a question mark in her mind. Yet the connection between them continued to grow despite his private nature and her inherent wariness. And more than just the magnetic pull of physical attraction was at play here.
At least for her.
Unlocking the back door, he led her directly to the mud room off the kitchen, where they stripped off their soaked coats and hats. Amy was shivering so hard Paul sat her on a kitchen stool and pulled off her stiff boots. Then he shooed her off to a guest bedroom to take a hot shower while he phoned people to let them know they were okay.
Amy had no idea how long she stayed in the shower, but it seemed to take forever for her to feel warm again. When she finally emerged from the steamy waters, she discovered Paul had replaced the wet elf unitard she’d left on the bed with a clean, white T-shirt and a hunter green velour robe. The shirt hit a comfortable midthigh length on her petite frame. Paul’s robe, on the other hand, draped around her ankles. But it was warm and plush and smelled of his fresh soap.
Wandering through the carpeted hallway in search of Paul, she realized it ran the length of the sprawling onestory house. Midway between the bedrooms and the big, eat-in kitchen, Amy found honey-stained French doors opening out to an enormous great room. She entered the room and was immediately dazzled by a cathedral ceiling of mellow gold wood, thick creamy carpet and lots and lots of windows. On a clear day, the views from the windows had to be fantastic.
“What do you think?”
She turned around to find Paul kneeling in front of the large, stone fireplace. All traces of Santa were gone. He looked decidedly warmer and more handsome in a black turtleneck and blue jeans.
“It’s wonderful, Paul. When Maura told me you helped design and build your house, I pictured a small, rustic cabin on top of a hill. Not something as airy or as comfortable as this. You must be very proud.”
“It’s the home I’ve always wanted. I plan to be here for a long time.” He lit the kindling in the grate and watched the new fire take hold.
His pride showed as he gave her a quick tour of the rest of the house. From the large kitchen with every convenience to the cozy, wood-paneled study, the thought and care he’d given to his home was evident. Yet, as Paul switched on the lights in each of the three sparsely furnished bedrooms, Amy sensed a loneliness in the place. The thought of Paul sitting alone in this beautiful rambling house on long winter nights saddened her.
When he walked her through his bedroom suite, however, Amy began feeling self-conscious. Now that the anxious activity of getting stuck in the snow was over, being alone with this man in the intimate confines of his home had its own set of implications. Was she ready to face them?
For the first time since they’d met, she and Paul were utterly alone with endless hours to spend together. No meddlesome family, no business interruptions. Hadn’t she been longing for such an opportunity while Paul was in Richmond? Why was she suddenly riddled with uncertainty?
“I’m sorry I couldn’t find anything else for you to wear,” he said as he led her back to the sofa in front of the stone fireplace. “Your costume should be dry by morning.”
“I’m fine with these. Just fine,” she said, trying to shake her nervousness. She wondered if Paul had heard the edge in her voice.
“I’ve got coffee brewing, but maybe you need something to eat,” he suggested. “How about some soup?”
“No, I’m not hungry at all. Just coffee, please.”
He looked at her for a long moment. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I told you I’m fine.” Really Amy felt awkward and stiff as she sat on the sofa. She prayed the fire’s warmth would relax her. Turning away from Paul, she curled her bare feet under her and
gazed directly into the fresh flames. After several seconds of silence, Paul left the room.
She felt terrible about cutting him off like that. But she couldn’t help it. Her ingrained self-protective instinct was putting up its guard. Maybe she should heed it for a change. Because every time she’d felt strongly about a man, she’d managed to block out its message. And every time—from her father all the way to Jeff Martin—she’d been, more or less, abandoned.
Paul returned with two mugs of steaming-hot coffee and chocolate-chip cookies on a tray. “I haven’t been to the supermarket lately so the refrigerator is pretty empty. But I found an unopened package of cookies in the cupboard.” He sat down beside her. “They’re not stale. I checked.”
The thought of Paul selecting a package of chocolate-chip cookies from a grocery store shelf softened her for a moment. She imagined a good many female heads turned whenever he pushed his cart down the aisles.
Amy took a cookie, even though her stomach was in knots. Then, in her nervousness, she started talking about the house, commenting on everything from the design to the type of wood used for trim. When she finally paused to ask Paul a question, he just stared back at her.
“Amy, I don’t want to talk about the house. And I don’t think you do, either.”
She stiffened. “I don’t see how you could know what I want.”
“What’s going on with you all of a sudden?” He plunked his cup down on the coffee table. “It feels like a wall has gone up between us.”
She decided his directness deserved her honesty. “I guess I feel uncomfortable being here like this.”
“Uncomfortable being alone with me, you mean?” His eyes winced with hurt. “But I thought—”
“I know what you thought, and what I thought, too.” She looked away, unable to think straight with his blue gaze boring into her. “But now I feel I’ve been put on the spot. We’re here alone in your house, basically stranded. Therefore the obvious will have to happen.”
“You can’t believe I plotted this. That I drove your car. into a ditch so I could have my way with you?”
“Of course not. You wouldn’t do a thing like that.”
“Then what are you afraid of?”
“I’m not afraid.”
“No?”
“No. I—I—just don’t like having the choice taken away from me.”
“Foolish me.” Paul slapped his forehead with his hand. “I thought you’d been making choices all along. At least it seemed that way.”
This flash of anger made her feel defensive. “I may have gotten ahead of myself. I’m sorry if I—”
“Don’t.” He reached for her hands, his voice gentler now. “Don’t say you’re sorry for what’s happened between us. And please, please don’t treat me like a stranger.”
“I’m not—I couldn’t. You’ve been much too good a friend to me.”
Her hands felt warm and protected in his grasp, but she fought the sensation. His touch was much too potent for her own good. She had to keep her head clear.
“I don’t want to be a friend, Amy.” Paul pulled her closer, forcing her to look at him. “I want you.”
She lowered her gaze. “I know.”
“Having you here in my home like this. Sitting in front of the fire with the snow howling outside. Feeling as if we’re the only two people on earth. It’s all like a dream come true.”
“Dreams aren’t real, Paul.”
“I’m real. Just touch me.” He drew her hand to his heart and pressed it against his chest. She could feel his heart beating hard beneath her fingers. “I want to make love to you.”
“Paul, I-”
“Everything that’s happened has been driving us to this moment. Maybe fate even had a hand in this snowstorm. Who knows?”
Her confusion was mounting. She had been drawn to him from the very first day, and every step that brought them closer had seemed inevitable. But giving herself to Paul was the ultimate step, a very emotional one. It held more risk than she could afford to take. “Maybe tonight is all wrong for us.”
With hope draining from his eyes, Paul sat back in resignation. “No, Amy, everything is right tonight, but if you can’t see that&h;”
“Please try to understand,” she implored.
“I’m trying. Believe me, I’m trying.” He brushed a hand through his thick, gold hair, his frustration obvious. “But perhaps you can help me with the question I’m grappling with right now. ‘Cause I’m sure having a hell of a time coming up with an answer.”
“I’ll try,” she murmured, feeling his wounded anger.
“If not tonight, of all the nights in our lives—” He paused, gently lifting her chin with his fingers until their eyes were level. “If not tonight, when?”
Amy was captured by his challenging gaze, yet she had no answer. After seemingly endless seconds, Paul released her and got to his feet. There was nothing more to be said. She rose from the sofa. “Should I use the same room I took the shower in?”
Paul nodded and then let her go with a simple goodnight.
As she walked alone down the dimly lit hall, the sense of loss weighed heavy on her heart. Part of her wanted to snatch back the last thirty minutes, rewind the film and replay the scene. This time desire and hope would overcome doubt and fear, and the ending—whichever way it turned out—would be a happy one. But she and Paul were not characters in a movie, and reality ruled. And because endings were never guaranteed, she had to believe her choice was for the best.
Before entering the guest room, she glanced into Paul’s room next door. His wide, mahogany sleigh bed stood out, a taunting temptation to her resolve. If her choice was so right, why did she feel so lost?
As she prepared for bed, she heard Paul close up for the night. Inside his room, the muffled sounds of movement filled her with an indescribable loneliness. Amy wondered if Paul was lonely now, too. Or had years of living alone in this big house inured him to the emptiness?
Why was the past such an unrelenting master? she asked herself as she slid under the covers. How well her mother had drummed its lesson into her head after Greg had left. Learn from your mistakes—don’t make the same one twice. And never leave yourself open to the wrong man. That was the biggest mistake of all.
Or was not trusting your heart an even greater mistake?
Amy tossed restlessly, unable to sleep. Her muscles ached from the strenuous hike through the snow, but her body ached with longing. She cared so much for Paul— so very, very much. They would never be together like this again. And he would never be as close as he was tonight. All she had to do was reach out&h;
Paul’s question echoed through her mind. If not tonight, when?
Unlike before, the hard cold answer struck Amy with its sobering truth, a truth too difficult to bear. If not tonight &h; never.
Amy realized she had to stop being afraid of what might or might not happen in their relationship. Hadn’t fear and mistrust kept her from her father all these years? Now she could never be with him. Never.
Bolting out of bed, she pulled on Paul’s robe. How things might end was irrelevant, Amy told herself. All that mattered was the beginning.
She stepped into the hushed silence of the hall. It was very dark and still. She didn’t need light to find Paul’s door, but those few steps seemed to take forever. Reaching down for the knob, she wavered for just a second before twisting it ever so gently. With her heart pounding in her ears, Amy slipped inside Paul’s room.
She prayed he still wanted her.
Chapter Eleven
Paul’s bedroom was completely dark and still.
Amy hesitated, wondering if he’d already fallen asleep, wondering if she dared wake him. Then she heard the rustling of sheets and the click of a lamp switch.
He sat up in the bed, the blanket and sheets sliding down his taut chest. His fingers combed wheat-colored hair from his eyes as he peered across the room at her.
Amy met his gaze, yet felt rooted to th
e spot. Her head and heart were spinning with thoughts and feelings she suddenly found impossible to express. She leaned back against the closed door, longing pulsing inside of her.
“You came.”
His deep, rich voice tingled through her. “Yes.”
“I’m glad.” He held out his hand.
It was all the encouragement Amy needed. She crossed the room quickly and slipped her hand in Paul’s.
“No regrets?” he asked.
“Only if I hadn’t come.”
The look in his eyes was a mixture of pleasure and relief. He gently pulled her down to the bed and held her close, covering her mouth with a satisfying full-bodied kiss. She felt him slide the robe off her shoulders, heard it fall on the carpet. Then her mind and body was consumed by the feel of his lips, the taunting of his tongue, the heat of his caressing fingers.
She uttered a soft cry of disappointment when he finally broke the kiss.
“I want you closer,” he breathed in her ear. He tossed the bed covers aside and drew her down beside him, pressing her close against his nakedness. Paul’s bed was warm; his skin felt hot and she was on fire.
Her arms and hands roamed down his back, her touch delighting in his smooth skin and tight muscles. Amy curved her hands along his arms, their hard strength fueling her need to feel them around her, to experience their power.
“Hold me,” she urged, burrowing deep into his embrace. “Hold me, please.”
He murmured her name over and over, his arms tightening velvet bands across her back. She could feel his arousal pressed hard against her pelvis. Her passion mounted as she kissed him, slow and long, savoring the taste of his lips, glorying in his urgent response as her tongue sought the moist warmth of his mouth. She had never kissed a man with such hunger; she’d never felt compelled to. Yet with Paul she felt free to enjoy him and pleasure him. And it made her feel alive and powerful and so very womanly.
With a growl of unrestrained desire, Paul laid a trail of kisses down her neck and across her shoulders. His hands moved over the T-shirt to cup her breasts. His fingers kneaded their softness and caressed their tips until she gasped with torturous delight.